Star Wars 40K: The Phantom Heretic
by Travellers all
Summary: Obi-wan Kenobi and Qui-gon Jinn meet up with soldiers from a time far, far, far in the future, beyond what they can even comprehend, and a galaxy so different it seems to hardly be the same reality. Now with new, longer chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, or Warhammer40K. Those belong to George Lucas and WOTC respectively. I do own this computer and the first Blood Angels Omnibus, as well as a more than likely excessive amount of Star Wars knowledge. I also own the crew and vessel Imperial Cadence, and the Primarch of the Tempest Digitus

Syllabus: Obi-wan Kenobi and Qui-gon Jinn meet up with soldiers from a time far, far, far in the future, beyond what they can even comprehend, and a galaxy so different it seems to hardly be the same reality.

Title: Star Wars 40K: The Phantom Heretic.

* * *

Year 42M 125, Day 125, Hour 14, Milky Way galaxy, Sol System, Mars Orbit

Chapter-Master Caedus Aman looked out from the bridge. He had just received his orders, and was already plotting the most effective method of routing the Necron forces recently awakened on Cytora. They would be a difficult enemy, but his army, the Tempest Digitus, sons of the Primarch Nicolaites, though to tell anyone that was Heresy. He stood, his bold face bared, revealing the cybernetic implant that took up a decent portion of his forehead and the back of his skull, where a MIU replaced nearly a quarter of his brain. He pointed forward, though the direction really didn't matter so much, as the Navigator would get them there regardless of which way he pointed, "Brace for Warp!"

All around the massive vessel, servitors and soldiers locked themselves down, gripping firmly to crash harnesses, knowing how rough the ship had been recently. The warp tore open before him and Aman cheered silently as the hulking monstrosity of steel pushed through the brink. Then the shaking started. He could hear the back part of the ship, and through his implants, feel it tearing apart inside the field. The Gellar field could only take so much, and gave up, exposing the ship to the Warp for a split second. Everything went completely black as the machine spirit of the ship up and died.

Servitors all around the ship followed suit, having been linked to the machine-spirit's great logic engines, which rapidly became multi-ton paper weights as irreplaceable cores melted into liquid. Aman stood from his newfound position on the floor, tugging at the wires that connected him to the ship. His own mind had almost gone with it, but he was alright, if a little dazed. Space looked mostly fine, except for a few dozen points of light that seemed out of place, "Navigator, where are we?" No response. "Navigator? Can you hear me?" He jumped over the console and dropped through the hole an Ork had punched in the deck a few months earlier that no-one had gotten around to repairing. At the bottom, he found the Navigator, still seated in his chair, smelling of burnt meat. From the looks of the smoke rising off the body, it had been the epicenter of a powerful warp surge. Ouch. What a way to go, "Apothecary? Any Apothecaries still alive?"

His response came in the form of a hunched over figure carrying himself entirely on his mechadendrites, dragging clearly destroyed legs across the grated floor, with what appeared to be bits of console jammed in them, "Yes Sir. I am. And might I say, you look pretty good for having your brain fried," he looked at the corpse on the pedestal, "Och, he doesn't though. And I don't think we have any spare navigators onboard. We might have enough psykers to send for help though."

Aman nodded, "Tend to this corpse, while I attempt to determine the extent of the damage we have sustained."

It turned out to not be too immensely horrific. The entire hangar bay had imploded, demolishing the ammunition stocks and all but three Thunder-hawks, and every servitor who had been instrumental to the further operation of the ship was dead of acute brain-frying according to the three Apothecaries remaining. The ship maintained atmosphere though, and although the entire bow section, and a third of the army was completely gone, vanished into the void, what remained was enough. Four hundred men, everyone a devoted son of Nicolaites, or a sister of those sons, and every last one trained in the ways of the Adeptus Mechanicus, as was Nicolaites' final order before he was wiped from existence by the Emperor.

The wreckage sat in orbit around a blue planet that greatly resembled parts of Holy Terra, but at the same time was totally wrong. Plus, it was surrounded by a massive force of the stupidest looking vessels Aman had ever seen.

* * *

"Master, does the Force feel strange to you?" The young Obi-wan Kenobi looked up at his master, who was standing silently in the cabin of the republic light transport. The older man shook his head in an almost affirmative nod, before freezing up for a moment, eyes flickering more rapidly than Obi-wan had ever seen except on Master Windu when he practiced against three dozen drones.

"You are right my young padawan. Something feels wrong, but I do not know what. We must conclude these negotiations as rapidly as possible," the Jedi Master sighed and leaned against the bulkhead as the vessel settled into the hangar on the flagship, only for the deck to shake fiercely, throwing both Jedi to the floor. They fought their way to their feet and the elder looked at the radar display on the dashboard, "That cannot be good."

Floating outside the Trade Federation blockade was a massive vessel, significantly larger than anything either Jedi had seen. If the radar was correct, that vessel bore mass driver cannons with barrels at least as big around as the control sphere at the center of the flagship. It seemed slightly lost, and tinged with purple, like an improperly shielded hyper-drive would give off. Plus it seemed to be torn up pretty badly at the bow, like it had run into a nasty asteroid field, which at that size, wasn't too unlikely. The pilot for the republic vessel looked at the Jedi, "Perhaps we could hail them, see if they need help?"

Qui-gon nodded, "Negotiations can wait a few minutes," and began broadcasting at the ship, feeling out with the force for anything alive onboard. The ship itself almost seemed alive, teeming with force signatures both large and small, the largest seated in what common sense told him was probably the cockpit, as a vessel of that size would need immense control to even avoid most of the mass shadows in Hyper-space, let alone get where it needed to go with a clearly leaky Hyper-drive. Finally he gained a response, in a sort of garbled basic that sounded like the user on the other end was using inferior broadcast equipment, and gargling nails at the same time.

"This is Jedi Master Qui-gon Jinn of the Jedi Council of the Galactic Republic. Please state your intended destination and objective."

* * *

"Commander, incoming hail. Unidentified source," the Marine who had taken the dead lexmechanic's place looked at Aman.

"Open the channel."

The message came through very slowly, like the person on the other end was trying to put too much power into their broadcast, and the remaining bits of the radio's Machine Spirit slowed it down to make sense of it.

"Galactic Republic? Jedi Council? Master Qui-gon Jinn, or whoever you are! My navigation is out and I require location information. Immediately, or I will fire upon you!"

* * *

The garbled return was barely intelligible, and Qui-gon had to play it back in his head several times before he was absolutely certain what they had said, "Huh? Alright. We're just a diplomatic vessel though, not a warship. Firing on us is against the law. You are currently in the orbit of the planet Naboo. Are you in need of assistance?"

The signals flew back and forth between the ships, slow on one end, garbled on the other.

"That chaos damned warp must have done it again. We must be in another galaxy. Master Jinn, where exactly are we, on a universal scale? In order that we may plot a new course."

"You are currently in the First quarter of the Grand Republic galaxy, in universal sector twelve-twelve-seven."

"Sector twelve-twelve-seven?" Aman seemed to pause for a moment as he discussed with his crew, "That is impossible. We departed from there just one week ago. This quadrant was just empty space, the nearest system was several months away!"

Qui-gon did some quick math, reaching the same conclusion as his padawn did a moment later, "Then you must have his some really nasty gravity well in Hyper-space. From our calculations, that would be at least seventy millennia off in time, or even a completely different galaxy. No worries, we'll just update you on the history to this point, and try to assimilate you into the galaxy at large.

"The Emperor is not here? No wonder none of the Psykers could sense the Astronomicon."

"No. Perhaps we could converse with you in person then, as the objective you seek is not currently an available pursuit, and we have a beautiful meeting room waiting for us down here."

"Very well then. I shall be down in a Thunderhawk shortly. Please prepare for my arrival."

* * *

Qui-gon responded affirmative before switching to the Nemoidian's frequency and informing them of the new arrangement. They allowed it, skeptically, and the Thunderhawk, a blocky craft that barely seemed to be able to fly under its own power pressed into the pristine white deck plates with muddy cleated foot-pads that left a mess of rotting plant matter and soil on the plating. That was nothing compared to the first man to step out of the nose hatch.

He stood somewhere around two and a half meters tall, and seemed almost half that wide with his armor on, much larger than even a Wookiee, and lugging two massive blaster-shaped bricks on their belt, the tar black of his armor contrasted grimly with the greys of the trade federation vessel and the ruby red of the republic vessel. Qui-gon met the soldier and attempted not to gawk at the sheer size of the man before him, some sub-race of human possibly?

The soldier knelt, "Greetings. I am Lord Caedus Aman, of the Imperium of Man, Chapter Master of the Tempest Digitus, stationed on the noble vessel Imperial Cadence," he gestured to the massive vessel sitting in orbit. After a pause, he scratched his helmeted head, "Gentlemen, something appears to be interfering with my communication with my vessel. I have informed my remaining crew that I will most likely be out of contact until I return, now let us meet the ambassadors you originally came to meet. It would be in our best interests to determine the state of this union, and obtain some new servitors before we can continue with our mission for the Emperor. Quickly, I have no desire to remain on this shimmering abomination." He shuddered imperceptibly at the sheer wastefulness of this chromed vessel. It had no style either, just shiny for shiny's sake. Even the servitor who greeted them was chrome.

* * *

Qui-gon nodded and turned as a silver protocol droid met them, "Greetings, I am TC-14, and I am here to lead you to the meeting room. My masters will be with you shortly." The silver droid began leading them through corridors that the Space Marines had to walk single file through to avoid brushing the ceiling panels with their massive shoulder armor. Once inside the room, Lord Aman took a stance at one side of the table that showed of his immense stature, as well as that of his two aides, who were armored more heavily than the legendary Mandalorians.

The droid took drink orders, and after staring at the Chapter Master for a long moment, marked down pure black coffee in place of the supposedly super strong coffee the marine had ordered, stating, "We do not have Greasy Bone Re-caf, Sir," then walked out the door, informing them that its masters were on the way.

* * *

"That servitor seems to be missing several important files," Aman brushed a gob of dried brown caking off his black gauntlet, revealing a long silvery gouge that seemed to be filled with the crust, "And what purpose would a mere ambassador have for a servitor anyway?"

* * *

"Droids. They make it easier to not have to work. These particular ambassadors, the Nemoidians are a very fragile race, and so they use droids to do nearly all labor," Obi-wan recited from memory before bowing respectfully to the scarred soldier, "I can see your race is not of that variety Lord Aman. That must have been some battle to do so much damage, especially with such armor."

* * *

Aman nodded, "Several actually, over the course of a few decades." He brushed an armored hand across one particular scar that ran from his torn off ear down to his collarbone, deep inside his armor, "A xeno managed to get me in his claws. Tried to tear my face off. Would have succeeded too if it weren't for the initiative of Arezio here."

The guard standing to the left nodded and lightly stroked a groove etched into his massive bolter, "Chapter-Master Aman even let me keep the head as a trophy, though it was technically his kill." He spoke as humbly as he possibly could, knowing that pride would lead him closer to Chaos.

* * *

Qui-gon nodded, "I see. And this creature was able to take a hit from that thing?" he pointed at the bolter, "without perishing immediately?" The damage a blaster that size could cause would remove any need for cremation, as there would be nothing left of most of the races in the galaxy, barring perhaps Gamorreans. If it winged them. Qui-gon was beginning to think that wherever these soldiers had come from, it certainly wasn't the past. And if it was the future, Qui-gon begged the Force that he wouldn't be around to see it.

* * *

"Aye. Was a great big Carnifex. Chaos damned thing took four shots to even slow it for our Dreadnaut, Bass to get it in a chokehold, which is when I finally managed to get a bullet in between it's eyes," Aman smiled, as if the memory was a pleasant one. Of course, to him, it had just been another day, barely worth chronicling if not for the four days he had spent in the Apothecaries care as they stitched his face back on.

* * *

To Qui-gon it sounded a great deal like the Reek, a massive beast of burden that could put holes in spaceship armor, and was almost guaranteed to kill anyone it mauled. And two of this pair, plus a third, had taken one in combat, reminiscing about it like it had been easy.

His face began to fall in horror, and a sort of stunned respect for these massive warriors, when he was interrupted by his padawan, "Master, do you smell that?"

* * *

The Marine Chapter-master sniffed the air, unsure what scent the boy spoke of, even as Qui-gon pulled a rebreather out of his robe and shoved it in his mouth, shouting, "Gas!" He sniffed it again, "Smells like Nerve toxins. Reminds me of those plague marines we fought a few centuries back," he offhandly commented to his guard. He stood and slid his helmet back on, "I suppose this means they intended to kill us, and maintain this orbit, I assume illegally?" He scoffed. It would take more than Nerve gas to kill off the sons of Nicolaites himself. "And this planet belongs to the Galactic Republic you spoke of earlier?"

* * *

Obi-wan nodded, even as Qui-gon looked at the door, drawing his lightsaber. The bright green beam illuminated the room and started dissipating the gas. Obi-wan followed suit, his blue blade bringing the glow to a deep aquamarine. Then the three Space Marines drew their chain-swords, revving them up in such a way that both Jedi flinched, instinctively knowing to fear the dull roar that reminded them so much of the growl of a Nexu, and from the looks of the teeth, probably had the same, or a similar effect.

* * *

The doors slid open and a series of skeletal droids looked into the room, one chittered, "Sir, I think we succeeded."

The blades of the lightsabers became visible and the droids froze for a moment, "Open Fire." Scarlet blaster bolts pierced the cloud of green gas, attempting to turn the occupants into swiss cheese, unsuccessfully, as the two Jedi spun out of the cloud, slicing the droids to pieces like they were nothing. The Space Marines walked out, chain-swords slowly idling in the cooling air above the bloodless carnage. It was so simple and nearly noiseless that when the Chapter-master laughed, it shook the entire hall.

* * *

"That is all? These ambassadors are even more pathetic than I could have imagined. Resorting to mere servitors to kill off the Emperor's finest," He paused for a second to think. "Now where are they so I can paint these pristine walls with their entrails for wasting my time?" Normally not even a consideration, but these humans were obviously illegally oppressing another human owned rock, and had assaulted the Emperor's men. For that, they deserved the death of Heretics.

* * *

Qui-gon paused for half a moment, but agreed with the sentiment, if not the words themselves. The Nemoidians were getting to be worse of a pain in the butt than his padawan. He pointed down the hall at a large doorway, "The command center is this way." He began moving deeper into the ship, cutting down droids as he passed them before reaching the sealed door, which he shoved his lightsaber into and began cleaving a large circle. Suddenly, five loud clanking noises reached them.

"Master, Destroyers!" Obi-wan backed against the door frame as the five wheel shaped droids arrived and folded out into walking turrets that rapidly identified the five targets. Obi-wan stepped in front of his master as the doors suddenly clanked loudly.

"They've sealed the blast doors. Give me a minute to punch through."

"Master, I don't think we have a minute," five more droidekas seated themselves behind the first row and locked on again, finally opening fire. Obi-wan managed to block a good amount, though he noticed the Space Marines simply watching the flickering lights of the blaster-bolts flicker out on their armor.

* * *

Finally Aman's second guard, Septimus, began moving towards the firing servitors who all focused their fire on him. His armor began to liquefy under the precision onslaught and he stopped, raising an armored hand into the way, to use his much thicker, muck coated bracer to absorb the hits, even as his other hand sank the massive chain-sword through the shield, the teeth catching and drawing it deeper as they hit the edge of the plasmic barrier before they sank through the reactor core and the droid exploded in a shower of hot plasma that scorched the teeth off the end.

"Huh. What is your armor made of?" Obi-wan asked Arezio, curious how it had taken so many direct hits from bolts that could melt through plasteel in a single shot. Not to mention how they could even walk in armor that heavy duty.

"Solid Adamantium, Two centimeters thick," Arezio blinked behind his helm. This human whelp had never learned of the Adeptus Astartes. They really had to be out of their own time for that to work. Everyone had heard of them, and most feared them. Few looked on them with the wonder that this mere child did.

The guard by the servitors twisted as another hole started bubbling in his armor, and put his chain-sword through number two as the bolts finally etched through his bracer. He rotated his arm, baring the unburnt side and drove his sword into the next, even as the blade started melting from the rapid increase in heat from the shields and the reactors going up around it. The fourth servitor left him wielding a handle, and the fifth got to taste an unscarred gauntlet first-hand, scorching off the paint, and from the fire that continued to burn on his wrist after, some skin as well.

* * *

Qui-gon was starting to sweat from the effort of driving his lightsaber through the three foot thick durasteel plates, and the heat of the paneling turning liquid just inches from his hand when the sixth droideka went down, taking off the Marine's arm, even as more rounded the corner to reinforce them, and to aid in blocking the only passage out, "Padawan, I could use a hand here!"

* * *

Arezio started forward, aiding his companion now that it was obvious they would need it to have time to get through to the objective, or at least to get back to the hangar. Then the ship shuddered. Aman took a pause as he realized that the crew of the republic vessel was dead. They had been blown up. And more than likely, the crew of the Thunderhawk too, though he had barely been able to feel the Jedi's men in the first place. He scowled and revved his chain-sword, "Excuse me Master Jinn. This is taking too long. And I can't get out a call for aid. I will paint the walls with these Heretic's blood before they kill another of my men!" The screaming chain-sword touched the plasteel door on their side of the blast door and sheared through it like the lightsaber had originally cleaved the battle droids before chewing into the blast door, spitting chunks of shredded durasteel the size of normal human fists onto the deck hard enough to dent it. Arezio shouted as his battle brother went down, armor finally too full of melting adamantium to maintain integrity against the servitors. Now lacking his chain-sword, Arezio decided it was time to end this. No longer did it matter if the air-breathers perished. One of his brothers had been killed, and from the look of it, these Heretics seemed Warp-bent on doing the same to himself and Chapter-master Aman.

He lifted his bolter and made a small show of ramming the massive shell into the breech as he recited the chapter oath and pulled the trigger. The forearm sized tungsten slug tore a tunnel through the three rows of servitors like they were made of wet cardboard, offing them in a flashy plasma light show before the shell burrowed out the end of the hallway, forcing a blast door to slam down. The next shot simply repeated the same maneuver, shortening the space between the end of the hall and the two remaining marines. A third shot brought the doors right up to the back of the remaining ten servitors, who had cleverly begun to spread out. The fourth shot and the ship started bleeding air.

* * *

Both Jedi made a frantic run for the next blast door, trying desperately not to get caught in the blast of vacuum. "They're insane!"

"Ya think!" Obi-wan shouted at the top of his lungs as he slipped through a half-closed blast door.

* * *

The two marines followed, though the passageway the Jedi had found was a very tight fit, and both had to wriggle like worms to fit, "This is degrading Commander. Astartes should never have to crawl through ventilation ducts like common soldiers. Warp, we make our passages bigger for a reason!" Arezio scowled behind his mask and shrugged his shoulders again, pulling himself down the channel.

Behind him, Chapter-master Aman wriggled along, "If it is required, the Adeptus Astartes are committed to crawling hands and knees to fulfill the Emperor's will. At the end of the tunnel, the four popped out in a room filled with tanks and droids. Arezio pulled out his bolter-pack, "I'm down to three shots, chapter-master."

Aman nodded and checked his own bolter, "Twelve. Chain-sword's out of fuel too. Jedi?"

* * *

"We need to get to the planet and inform the queen. Before the invasion army gets there."

"We must make our way back to our vessel. As our Thunder-hawk is currently lacking physical form, our route appears to be to follow you down to the surface in an effort to commandeer a vessel large enough for us to return to the Imperial Cadence and seek the Emperor's vengeance on these 'Nemoidians.'"

Qui-gon pulled out a pair of small comlinks, "Take these, use them to contact me when you reach the planet, and we will meet up there."

* * *

Arezio took one and tucked the little device into one of the pockets on his leg armor, "Chapter-master, will two of us be enough?"

"It better be, else I will be leaving the remainder of Tempest Digitus without a commander."

"That's reassuring," Qui-gon looked at Obi-wan and sprinted into one of the troop carriers just before the door closed. Both marines managed to occupy separate vessels, sneaking in on the backs of tanks that seemed to be floating on massively powerful null-grav fields.

* * *

R&R, and to all you who reviewed the first version of this chapter, please re-read and re-review.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See the beginning of chapter one.

The crew so far:

Qui-gon Jinn: Jedi Master

Obi-wan Kenobi: Jedi Padawan of Master Jinn

Caedus Aman: Chapter-master of the Warriors Tempest, and commander of the imperial vessel Imperial Cadence

Arezio Dirge: Honor Guard to Caedus Aman, and long-time gene-brother

* * *

The two Warriors Tempest, Chapter-master Caedus Aman, and his second, Arezio Dirge stood on the swamps of this planet, Naboo. It squelched with every step, bringing images to mind of a planet where the Tyranid presence had been fought off successfully. Gore and flesh everywhere, manifesting in the vines and stones that resembled fallen battle brothers. They had been on the planet for just over two hours when the Jedi finally showed up, dragging a xeno along. This one was hideous and looked like someone had stuck the ears of an elephant on the head of a platypus, then had the audacity to give it the holy human form everywhere else. The elder jedi had to physically hold his arm back to keep him from planting a bolter round through the pathetic abomination's face.

* * *

"Chapter-master, this is Jar Jar Binks. I saved his life, as he saved mine. He is not to be harmed," under his breath he murmured, just loud enough for Aman's extra sensitive ears to pick up, "Unless I kill him myself."

* * *

Oh good. That meant the jedi had the same lowly opinion of this xeno as he did. Of course, then he heard the younger jedi drilling some information out of the creature, who screeched something about a hidden city where they could go, that was entirely safe from the thousands of death machines waiting to blast all of them to atoms. Aman smiled beneath his helmet at the young man's flowery description. Though untrue, it certainly got them closer to their objective, the queen of this planet, on the other side of the massive orb of blue and green, and a ship.

The creature led them to the edge of a large lake and the two jedi, once more seeming to be over-prepared, brought out their rebreathers again and followed the xeno into the water. The two marines waded in as well, suits autosealing against the pressure of the water and switching over to canned air. Half an hour of it.

"Chapter-master, I believe this xeno may be of some use, like the Eldar have been. I have a bolter round with his name etched into it."

"You may be correct, but do not allow this setting to dull your senses. Save the shot for the optimal time, then execute it, as is befitting such a blasphemy," The two dropped into formation behind the Jedi, though lacking propulsion jets, both troopers had to swim quite frantically to even stay afloat. The Jedi seemed happy to grip the mounting brackets on the packs and haul up on them as hard as they possibly could. It managed to get them to a deck that neither trooper believed could hold them, but it surprisingly did, maintaining integrity as they followed the other three through an energy field, just like the one on the entrance to the larger vessel where their Thunderhawk had been blown to pieces.

The suits unsealed as soon as they analyzed that the pressure was normal, maintaining atmospheric locks until the machine spirits inside had determined that it was safe to breathe. Of course, then another xeno arrived and pointed a spear at the one leading them. Infighting, what a wonderful thing that was. Arezio pressed his own weapon, the far larger bolter, barrel still dripping water, at the mounted xeno's head, "Take us to your leader immediately, or I will not hesitate to remove your head from your shoulders xeno." He wasn't even prepared to laugh it off as a joke. Those spears were coursing with energy, and he knew what force-blades could do, even to his armor.

* * *

The xeno responded, dropping his spear, "That was the intended destination for our visitors, but this one," he pointed to the cowering guide, "was exiled for a number of reasons. He is to be puu-neeshed."

"You mean killed?" Aman lifted the guide by his vest collar and stared into the stalk mounted eyes, even as the jedi waved a hand, "This Gungan is our guide, I saved his life from a great war machine on the surface. He owes me a life debt now, one which you must respect."

* * *

Aman shook his head as the psychic presence around him rippled. It was a cleaner energy, one free of the taint of chaos, something he had noticed from the minute the vessel dropped out of the warp. The mounted creature nodded, "Follow me. Men, follow them." Was this Jedi some form of Psyker? And if so, it was a good thing the Imperium didn't have a presence here. That sort of blatant abuse of the warp would have had him being fed to the Golden Throne within hours, just to keep him from becoming tainted.

The escorted group reached a large spherical chamber with six of the fattest xenos Aman had ever seen, who seemed to be in charge. How he had no idea, and he didn't understand them anyway. The elder Jedi, Qui-gon Jinn seemed to understand them though, and performed several more psychic pushes to the fattest one's mind, urging it to do something before it laughed, "Meesa give yousa an Bongo. You get to your queeney speedy-speedy."

The younger jedi asked, almost too quickly, "What's a Bongo?"

* * *

Apparently it was a death trap, a five-seater vessel that barely managed to fit the massive space marines, with their heads and shoulders poking out of the electrostatic bubbles. They plowed through the water, utilizing snorkels to shift the air intakes into the bubbles as they watched the massive ocean rush past. Arezio spotted the massive underwater xeno before anyone else and drew a bead on it, just as the massive beast snagged the Bongo with a tongue that adhered itself just inches in front of Arezio's twisted torso. He placed his bolter against the tongue as the creature bit down, engulfing him entirely.

The bolt tore through the tongue but didn't otherwise seem to faze the creature as he heard the voice of the elder jedi through the headset, "There's always a bigger fish." Arezio wasn't sure. Though he had seen some ship sized 'nids before. Sure enough, the master jedi was correct.

* * *

A moment later the fish released them and as they sputtered away, he saw a massive creature making a meal of the one that had just engulfed him. The Bongo died abruptly and the xeno began panicking about the water getting in. What, it was amphibious, at least it could survive the water better than them. And certainly longer, if it didn't have Arezio's twisted about boot impressing a brief lesson about silence on both of the creature's anomalous lungs. And now Arezio was down to two rounds for his bolter.

* * *

The younger jedi managed to get the craft working again just in time too, if the timer on his oxygen tank starting up again was any indication. Of course, the fact that his air tank had begun ticking meant that his boot had spent too much time embedded in their guide's ribcage. The xeno was dead, and without a wasted bullet. Of course, now he had to hide that from the two Jedi, who seemed like the type to prefer that the creature not be dead. In that case, they also probably wouldn't like the timed detonators on the bombs they had surreptitiously placed in the xeno city, which ought to be going off very soon.

The Bongo accelerated away from the deep ocean and surfaced in what seemed to be a river. Fortunately the air was breathable, and the electrostatic membranes shut off. The two Jedi pulled out tiny grapnels and started spinning them towards opposite sides of the river, probably in an effort to tether the Bongo.

* * *

Aman and Arezio looked at each-other, centuries of being side-by-side had improved their mental communication to an instantaneous synchronization and each loaded a grapnel the size of the xeno's head into their bolters, firing them at the promenade on either side. The thick cables stopped the Bongo and the two marines carefully swung it up against one side before Arezio violently tore his grapnel free of the other side, lifting a good hundred kilos of stonework at the same time.

The master Jedi frowned and hid his face in his hands, a brief pause of focus during which Arezio rolled the corpse into the river, bidding it a snarky adieu. Perhaps damaging the promenade was not a good idea at this time. Aman removed his grapnel as carefully as he could, but still did a great deal of damage, though less than Arezio, "Well then, quit moping over spilled statues and let's go get us an audience with this queen." The unspoken ending echoed in Qui-gon's head, 'So we can get a ship and get back to our men.' The after-thought of the dead Gungan only crossed his mind after they were already inside the palace, and Qui-gon wisely kept it to himself. He could always chew them out later, when there wasn't a queen to rescue.

* * *

That was easier said than done, and the four of them crossed paths with the queen being escorted by more of those skeletal servitors, the pseudo-necrons led by a grotesque blue skinned xeno. Fortunately, Arezio didn't get reprimanded for leaping off the balconey and crushing servitors into the tile like they were rag-dolls, because Aman had jumped first.

The jedi joined them, slashing open a few more servitors before stopping and looking at the queen. The elder bowed and whispered something muffled by the hand in front of his lips before standing, "Milady, we must depart from Naboo immediately. These men have a cruiser in orbit, but we have no way to contact them for a blockade break."

"Then the negotiations didn't go very well?"

* * *

"The negotiations never took place Milady," Aman spoke roughly but respectfully, "Our vessel is low on armament, and would be unable to withstand a blockade such as this alone. When I was last able to check in, we were without warp capability, and are stuck in orbit, a sitting duck if we take so much as a single shot, and we lack the necessary troops to strike all the cruisers at once." It is becoming clear to me that I must gain the aid of a higher power in this galaxy, one who rivals the Emperor in power, with which I may serve my men best. Although a vessel to return to our ship in, and several tons of ammunition, would help greatly.

"Oh," she nodded and looked at the jedi, "Is this true?"

* * *

"It is. This is Chapter-master Aman, of the vessel Imperial Cadence, leader of a great number of souls. He also appears to be at least partially force sensitive, and we will need to take him to Coruscant anyway."

"So we figured they could tag along," Obi-wan spoke, bowing deeply to the young queen. They seemed almost perfect for each-other, though the jedi appeared to be far too noble, and like the Space Marines, not drawn in by those specific urges.

* * *

"Thus, with your permission, it would be our great honor to travel with you until such a time as we are able to return to our Emperor."

"Okay. We must move quickly then. Master Jedi, my ship is down in the hangar, and we will have to hurry if we want to get to it before the Trade Federation locks down the planet," she began leading, her personal guard following closely, even as she began to question the armored soldier's words, stylized blaster-pistol bouncing against her hip in a terribly thin looking leather pouch. It wouldn't even scuff the paint on those soldiers armor, "And if what Chapter-master Aman says is true, we must stop at his ship, even if only temporarily, that his men may be resupplied with food and water, and possibly shuttled down to the surface. We will take two ships, to this end."

* * *

"Very well," Aman nodded. This human was intelligent, though very weakly structured. She could never take on even the weakest of the Sororitas Hospitalliers.

The hangar was a new sight for the two marines as well, all shiny and chrome plated. The only place there was that much chrome was inlaid on the gold plating of the Emperor's throne, where he came from. Once again the ship they boarded was somewhat small, seemingly designed for regular humans, under two meters tall. It was degrading having to crawl on hands and knees to fit, and twisting to squeeze through the doorways was infinitely worse. It was almost like this galaxy had no creatures of their stature. The other vessel was taller, and far more familiar in appearance, but it lacked several sets of launch jets. Despite that, it took off smoothly and rocketed out, followed by the chrome cylinder the Marines had found themselves stuck in.

Then the ships finally managed to get into space, moving so much slower than a Thunder-hawk at full after-burner, that Aman wasn't even sure the pilot understood the urgency. It was certainly smoother than the Cadence's Thunder-hawks, those two that remained, but it also clearly lacked any sort of artillery, even rudimentary. He felt the ship rocking as it took hits, and flinched as several meter high servitor tanks rolled out into a lift. A few minutes later the shuddering stopped and a single servitor returned. With how horribly damaged it was, Aman immediately burst a request for the delivery of a tech-priest to give the poor servitor its last rights.

* * *

The shiny space-craft was soon joined by a single Thunderhawk that guided them into what remained of the hangar. The foodstuffs were unloaded, and distributed among the crew as Aman took a new headcount. The head Apothecary, who had actually been far lower before the incident, reported smoothly, hiding the troubled feeling in the back of his throat, "Of those we had remaining when you departed, we lost four sisters to their injuries, and twelve brothers. Forty seven guardsmen perished when we couldn't open an air channel to them, and the engine chambers disintegrated. The Imperial Cadence is no more Commander."

"Did you manage to uncover any more supplies?"

"Forty five tons of Promethium sir, though we lost most of our flamers in the engine explosion."

* * *

"Tech-priest Staeker, welcome," Aman smiled beneath his helmet. If anyone could get this poor servitor where it needed, Staeker, a trained Tech-priest and Apothecary could do it. He nodded, mecha-dendrites extending from his cloak.

"Ah, such a young presence, not even a full decade and yet already a powerful servitor? You seek healing, I know. You will outlive these machine spirits, will you not," he smiled a gruesome half-smile as his mechanical lips didn't quite follow his fleshy ones. One small claw unfolded from his forearm, which both jedi now saw was also cybernetic, not just heavily armored like the Chapter-master and Honor guard. The claw gripped a corner of the greasy robe and began gently rubbing the grease off a nameplate, "Radar Deus, Delta Deus. A short name for a short servitor."

* * *

A handmaiden walked into the hold, staring in awe for a few moments at the immense arched room before turning to the droid. She had seen the two original soldiers, and the scorched droid before, but not the new-comer. She stumbled slightly on her way over to the droid, where she knelt and held up a piece of her robe, "Sir, I was ordered by my queen to clean this droid up. Might I assist you?"

* * *

"Your ability to conceal your shock is incredible dear, and I would appreciate the assistance. Please attempt to keep your hands in this general area," his organic hand waved around the dome, "I shall handle the more delicate portions of this servitor."

She nodded and began gently wiping the carbon scoring from the dome, listening to the back and forth chittering of droid-speak between the two machines.

"Ah, it seems your servitors speak the same language as ours. That will make it easier to communicate with them," Aman slumped against the wall, removing his helmet. To their credit, both the Jedi and the handmaiden showed incredible restraint, for humans in general. His shoulder plates and gauntlets followed, being stacked neatly in one of the empty servitor carts until he wore only the lower portion of his armor, revealing his scars. He looked at the handmaiden and the tech-priest, "Servitor…" he paused for a moment, "Apothecary, would you mind grabbing a couple of blankets. The female should not be forced to see an unclothed brother, as she is not one of us."

The Apothecary responded quickly, performing the job of a servitor quickly and efficiently, as there were no servitors left alive to do so. He nodded and dragged a blanket out of one of the cubbies, handing it to the chapter-master, who wrapped it around his waist deftly, shucking his armor beneath it. As he removed his boots, he lost a quarter meter of height, and revealed a foot that appeared to have been nearly cleaved off, as well as more scars on his lower legs. The blanket, meant to cover a normal human from neck to ankles, was barely mid-shin length on the massive man. Another blanket flew over to Arezio, who followed suit, shucking his armor and piling it neatly in a servitor cart. The handmaiden finally walked back onto the ship, followed by the servitor as the tech-priest hung up his own robe and took a seat on his own heels.

"Apothecary, we must depart for the center of this galaxy's government, to request aid, both for ourselves, and for this oppressed planet beneath us. I have offered our temporary services to the planetary guard in exchange for board and a safe place to stay. This shuttle will assist the remaining Thunder-hawks in transporting those who remain down to the surface, at which point I want every remaining bit of promethium onboard this vessel to be used to remove it from orbit, and preferably away from the occupied planet."

"Yes sir, and am I to assume that you will be placing a temporary commander until your return?"

"No, you seem to be doing a fine job here. Just keep it up. Six hundred and thirty troops is a great number for any one man to lead. You have done admirably."

Aman turned and tapped Staeker on the shoulder, "We may need you to help this servitor maintain the integrity of this poor vessel. She has no offensive capabilities."

Staeker stared at the chrome cylinder for a long moment before reluctantly joining his commander on-board, ducking through the short halls to the cargo bay, wincing every time a mechadendrite tore off a piece of carved wood, "I am sorry," he mumbled to the ship itself, speaking to the machine spirit.

* * *

The light craft departed again, covered by the armament of the Thunder-hawk until it was far enough away to make the jump to Hyperspace, Aman watching out the window as the landing craft ran afoul of the ring shaped vessel's cannons. He didn't shed a tear, but filed away the knowledge as yet another crime those Heretics would suffer for.

"Master Jinn, Thank you for having my commander in your service. I am proud to serve alongside one who treats his servitors with such respect," he bowed deeper than Qui-gon thought any human could, let alone one who stood two meters tall. He was clearly shorter than his commander and Arezio, who were currently performing parallel katas on the floor, bare feet pressing into the deck plates hard enough to dent them. Finally, after bowing for almost a full minute, the Tech-priest began removing his own armor, placing it reverently in another servitor bay, "Rest, my machine spirits." He flicked a switch underneath his tunic that seemed to just barely be concealing horrific scarring and livid red flesh. Suddenly, his entire right side and both of the large mecha-dendrites protruding from his back went limp. His organic hand brushed the mechanical one gently and he crooned something at it in binary before holding up a cable he had pulled out of his mostly hollow chest. He held it out to the younger Jedi, "You seem to have an affinity for the mechanical side. Perhaps you could assist me and plug this in?"

* * *

Obi-wan looked at him, horrified at the idea of connecting a living creature to ship-board current. Even the most basic cybernetics used hydro-electric power sources now, so they never needed charged. He did as he was asked though, and the tech-priest smiled, Thank you my son. I shall charge this night and feast with my brothers in the morning."

"It has been a long day, hasn't it Padawan. I am going to turn in for the night, and so are you, and you as well," he pointed at the two marines performing their katas. The two Jedi departed and the two marines took position beside the sleeping machine, all three dropping into a state of hibernation. Four hours was all they would need, but the baseline humans would require at least eight, and out of respect for that, so too, the Warriors Tempest would take eight hours of rest.

* * *

Up in the cockpit, Qui-gon looked at the readout on the dashboard, "Are you sure?"

"I am certain. That shot hit the hyperdrive. If we're lucky, we can get to one of these planets before it fails completely, and get repairs."

"That one has no space travel of its own, allied with the Trade Federation at current, Owned by the Hutts. Looks like Tatooine it is then."

* * *

Please R&R, and those of you who reviewed this chapter earlier, please review again, as I have modified it heavily.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See the beginning of chapter one.

The crew so far:

Qui-gon Jinn: Jedi Master

Obi-wan Kenobi: Jedi Padawan of Master Jinn

Caedus Aman: Chapter-master of the Warriors Tempest, and commander of the imperial vessel Imperial Cadence

Arezio Dirge: Honor Guard to Caedus Aman, and long-time gene-brother

Antonius Staeker: Tech-priest trained as an Apothecary, due to a shortage of men

Padme Naberrie Amidala: Queen of Naboo

Panaka: Personal body-guard of Queen Amidala

R2-D2/ Radar Deus Delta Deus: Astromech droid in the service of the queen.

* * *

"Milady, the fire appears to have damaged the hyperdrive. We will have to land on a nearby planet and get repairs. There is a single planet within range."

Qui-gon Jinn looked at it, "Tatooine. Nasty planet, ruled by the Hutts."

The queen's guard scowled, "Master Jinn, we cannot take the queen to a planet ruled by the Hutts. They'd cut our throats as soon as look at us."

"True, but they don't need to see us. And they aren't looking for us, Captain Panaka."

"Alright. I do not agree with your ideas, but I cannot argue that we need parts."

"Thank you. Pilot, set course for Tatooine," Qui-gon walked back into the hold, where the three men from the future were performing their morning exercises. They all wore nothing but their robes, though the tech-priest wore his cybernetics quite proudly.

* * *

"Gentlemen, we will be setting down on the planet Tatooine for a short maintenance stop, as the hyperdrive has gone out. We had our best mechanic look at it," he shrugged and pointed at the tiny droid, "It believes that we need to replace the entire assembly, which will require going into town. Now, you three can stay here, or come with, but we ask that you make yourselves inconspicuous. Please attempt to conceal at least some of those scars, as they might scare off the natives," he added under his breath, "Or attract them."

* * *

"Yes sir. Staeker, from my research on their communication network, I believe your mecha-dendrites will stand out too much. We should remove at least the larger ones, and wrap your arms and legs," Aman began pulling out several of the larger blankets and wrapping them around the metal legs, as Arezio wrapped his arm neatly, making a bandage-like tie on the end, basically crippling the limb, but concealing that it looked like the love-child of a maintenance servitor and an assault servitor.

Obi-wan scrounged up some spare tunics from the queen's excess wardrobe. While they were technically dresses, he didn't think the marines would notice, or for that matter care. Clothes were clothes.

* * *

The two larger ones dressed up in the excess outfits, looking very much like some of the larger races, as they wrapped their faces in extra fabric. It was only possible to tell them apart by the pauldrons they insisted on wearing, 'just in case some other Chaos-cursed marines wound up there'

Identification was very important to these Space Marines. Staeker wore his own robe over the body-wraps and a dress torn off at mid-knee to make a properly ratty tunic and a sling to hold his 'injured' arm.

All three marines joined the jedi at the door, as Qui-gon ordered his padawan to stay aboard and guard the queen. Arezio agreed with the sentiment and offered to remain behind. Aman agreed, but they needed both the droid and the tech-priest to find the best parts. And then Panaka dragged out one of the handmaidens dressed in blue, "The queen requested that you take her handmaiden Padme along, to ensure that you do not do anything that would reflect poorly on Naboo, or the republic."

* * *

And of course the stupid queen wouldn't allow him to only take soldiers. He honestly wanted to leave the droid behind too, as it was almost guaranteed to clog up in the sand. He didn't know about the tech-priest though. He seemed to be resisting the sand quite well, and judging by the color of the rags after only a few minutes wrapped around his legs, they already had enough gunk to make that astro stop working, and were moving just fine.

They reached the town and Qui-gon reached out with the force, feeling for the signature of a machine. Behind his face covering wraps, the tech-priest appeared to be doing the same. Both almost simultaneously pointed at a bee-hive shaped building, and they quickly strode inside. Sitting atop the counter was a little blue Toydarian, nasty little bugs, but they certainly knew how to barter.

"I need parts for a J-type Nubian." He held up a holo-emitter, showing the hyperdrive, "Our hyperdrive had a meltdown."

"Ah yes. I see. I believe I have one. Follow me." The creature fluttered out the door, Jedi on his tail, and Staeker trailing as quickly as he could, legs groaning with every step to not give in to the heated sand that seemed to pervade the entire planet.

* * *

The other three members of the party stayed in the main room, looking around. Aman admired the skill that a number of these machines had been crafted with. R2-D2 sat against the counter snickering in binary at the Chapter-master. Padme turned away from the odd pair and nearly ran into a young boy, who hopped up on the counter and basically started telling her his life story.

When Qui-gon returned, he gathered them all together, "Watto says that it will cost five hundred thousand credits. I was unable to push his offer down, neither was Staeker."

* * *

"May I try?" Aman grinned behind his facial wrap. At Qui-gon's nod, he stepped up to the counter, listening to Staeker's chittering passively, "Sir, I believe you are trying to perpetrate a scam against my friend here. My tech-priest here says a part like that is worth maybe two hundred credits, if it was in better condition." He shrugged, "I would be glad to pay the realistic price for it, or I could just shoot you and take it." The large bolter appeared like magic out of his tunic, where it had escaped even Qui-gon's scrupulous examination. "I have been advised however, that removing your head is a terrible business practice, and until such a time as I return to my own land, where it is perfectly acceptable, you will give me the desired price.

With the barrel in his face, the Toydarian began to back down, "Five thousand. I'll go no lower."

The chapter-master focused, pushing his will against the toydarian's mind, "Two hundred tops."

"One Thousand"

"Two Hundred," another push, this time boosted by the barrel being pressed into the creature's head, "Last try."

"Two hundred it is then," the Toydarian shuddered, "And I'll throw in a pair of Pit droids to help you carry it."

"Deal."

Qui gon stepped over, "Aman, We don't have two hundred credits."

"Alright. We will go earn some more credits then, and purchase it when we return. Failing that, I will simply shoot him. In fact, I may just shoot him anyway, the foul xeno."

* * *

Qui-gon smiled, wryly, like he was absolutely certain the commander wasn't joking, and he knew he couldn't do anything about it, and led them out of the building, and down the main road, "Now then, how to earn some credits. How to earn a few credits…" he nearly tripped over the boy from the shop as the child darted past him and cut off a Dug who seemed to be angry at the droid or something.

The boy turned to Qui-gon, "Sorry about that. Sebulba's just a bully. He was about to turn your friend here into bantha poodoo." The kid nodded and sniffed the air, "I smell a storm coming. Do you have shelter?"

"Our ship is just outside the outskirts."

* * *

Aman looked at the creature, who seemed to be scampering off, and mentally sighted it, plotting his target so he could, in under an instant fire off a bolter round into the fleeing xeno. If the Jedi hadn't taken it away before they left the shop.

* * *

"You'll never make it in time. Come on, my place isn't far, but if we don't hurry, we may not be able to get out of the storm until it's stripped the flesh from our bones," the boy started running, and all of the adults began following rapidly, towing the little astromech, who had taken refuge in Staeker's cloak. The sand storm came up quickly and the group barely managed to get inside while the wind tore down on them.

* * *

Almost as soon as they were inside, Staeker looked at the boy's mother, quickly measuring her on instinct. Good sized, healthy, but she seemed worn out, like she had spent the last decade or so carrying the loads of a full squad. No obvious husband, nor any of the signs of one.

In short order, he determined that she was a single mother, the boy was her only child, and there was a great deal more technology in this small hut than he had any reason to expect. He nodded politely to her, "Thank you for allowing us to borrow space in your home for the duration of this storm ma'am."

* * *

Qui-gon stepped forward and nodded, "Your son offered us a room for the night, if that is alright with you?"

She laughed and nodded, "Yes, it's alright. Ani's always bringing his new friends over, so I actually have an extra pair of rooms available in the back," she smiled, "I'm Shmi Skywalker, Anakin's mother," she held out her hand.

"Qui-gon Jinn," he gently shook her hand.

"Caedus Aman," he smiled behind his face wraps. The people in this galaxy were so much nicer than the Imperium, but so naïve too. Although at least they were human.

"Antonius Staeker," he bowed as much as the wraps would allow, desperately wanting to have his mecha-dendrites to complete the introduction. He truly felt naked without them, despite knowing deep in his heart that he had to leave them behind if they were to keep a low profile.

"Padme Naberrie," the handmaiden smiled. She had such a way with words, but none of them found their way out in her introduction.

* * *

R2-D2 chittered a greeting and leaned forward in a pseudo-bow before Anakin grabbed it and Staeker, the obviously most mechanically minded of the group, "Come on, I've got this really awesome droid to show you!" Staeker followed, slightly skeptical that the boy had a full servitor, especially with a home in this poorer section of the town. He was proven wrong when he saw the scrawny machine leaning against the wall. It didn't even seem to have any organic parts. A full conversion servitor. His mother must have saved for almost his entire life to get him that, and it just sat in the corner?. "I call it C-3PO, it's a protocol droid designed to help my mom out around the house. Had to scrounge up the parts from Watto's junk pile, but it works great."

Scrounge up parts? The boy had actually built it himself? Without help? He would be an amazing Tech-priest, or even Tech-marine if they could get him on the program soon enough.

The boy pushed a button and the servitor stood up, looking around frantically, "I can't see, I can't see!" Anakin picked up an optic sensor, brushed it against his tunic, and pressed it into the servitor's eye socket. The machine flickered the light a couple of times before looking around, "Oh, hello there. I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations. I am fluent in over nine million forms of communication."

* * *

"Antonius Staeker, Tech-priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"And you. You appear to be injured sir, is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. It is an old war injury my son. Nothing to concern yourself with," he had to think fast around this servitor, as it was obvious by the looks of the majority of his surroundings that in this galaxy there were no other followers of the Machine God, and showing off his oversized, and very brutal grafts, would probably make people dislike him, which would be familiar, but at current, undesirable. In addition, this servitor seemed to have a most incredibly advanced machine spirit assisting it.

R2 chittered at the two, and Anakin nodded, "Tech-Priest? Like a mechanic?"

"No. Mechanics make repairs in the field. No dedication there at all. Tech-Priests perform the rights necessary to keep the machine spirits happy and functioning properly. The position does cover some mechanic duties, but the majority of those duties are carried out by servitors."

* * *

Down in the kitchen, Qui-gon helped Shmi prepare dinner, with Aman's help. Mostly by having Aman carry things over to the table, as he seemed to have never, even once, eaten at a table that was already empty, or for that matter, one with chairs, and silverware. He stared at a fork for several minutes, trying to figure out how to hold the bizarrely miniscule trident, and how it was involved in eating.

Finally, the three managed to get the table all nicely set up, and Aman took advantage of Shmi looking back to the stove, and Qui-gon looking up the stairs, to snag a fresh orange out of the bowl and take a bite out of it. The sour fruit juiced and made him feel more alert, though his taste-buds were telling him it should have hurt, and he was salivating.

* * *

This boy was a curious little man, and Staeker would have continued his lengthy monologue, but he was interrupted by a call of 'Dinner' from the boy's mother. The four rejoined the group around the kitchen table and Ani took a seat as Staeker knelt beside the table, seating himself on the floor beside Aman. Both still sat tall enough to eat normally. Once again Staeker regretted not having his mechadendrites to assist his natural arm, and he went to unwrap his heavily bandaged cyber-arm, "Sir, I believe these people can be trusted."

"Indeed," the Chapter-master nodded and pulled off his facial wraps, revealing the scars running across his face. Padme did not react, much like the handmaiden from the night before. Perhaps they were the same person. That was good. The less of them knew the damage the war had done, the better. Staeker dropped his wrap on the side of his chair and reached out with his cybernetic hand to grasp at an apple, a real apple, not a reconstituted paste that tasted like apple, or anything. The small fruit was absolutely dwarfed by his massive mitt, and Anakin's mouth nearly hit the table at the sight.

* * *

"You're a cyborg? That's so cool!" the boy seemed enraptured by the appearance of the rough cut plating. Fortunately, the sleeve hid the scars where metal met flesh, and Staeker was able to maintain his façade of peace as he slid his own facial wraps down and tucked the apple into his organic lips, biting off a small portion and gently chewing it as he pressed the rest into the metal side of his face, which rapidly juiced the entire crimson orb down to the core and fed the pulped fruit down his throat, bypassing his teeth and the scarred tongue that followed.

"I am a servant of my Emperor, injured and re-built in his service," the boy would definitely make a fine recruit to the order, especially if he could get over this absolutely bizarre expression around advanced technology. He lifted another one of the fruit to his lips and consumed it rapidly before tucking into the breads and the small slab of meat he had been allotted.

Aman grinned wryly at the boy's reaction to his Tech-Priest. It wasn't a normal reaction, but every single person he had seen that expression on had gone to the machine side of life. Though at the same time the boy seemed to be giving off a ripple in the warp around him. A gentle psychic push, though much weaker than that of the Jedi beside him, it had a presence that was noticeable, and if he had been back home, in the turbulence of that warp, he would have had the boy taken into protective care immediately to keep him from falling to chaos.

Aman looked over at the jedi, who nodded, feeling the same ripple, though the look in his eyes told him that the boy might be in danger with that forceful push. He seemed to actively be afraid of something. Perhaps he had felt the taint of chaos in his life as well, and seen it draw in the mind of a powerful Psyker.

He let his mind push back softly, directing the boy's attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, it was to the Jedi. The boy noticed the lightsaber at Qui-gon's hip, "Oh cool, a lightsaber! Are you a Jedi?"

"Maybe," Aman felt the warp ripple around the Jedi as he bluffed, "Or maybe I killed one and took his lightsaber."

"That's impossible, no-one can kill a Jedi!" Aman let his mind flash back to a number of horrid creatures who not only could, but would, kill such an open psyker in seconds.

* * *

Dinner was completed in a little more than an hour, though the two soldiers had finished eating more than half an hour early, being still under the speed-eating technique drilled into their brains, literally in Staeker's case. The boy stood, almost before dinner was finished being eaten, and started moving towards the window, which appeared to have opened as the storm let up. Now they could see the night sky, and Qui-gon stepped outside to comm his padawan, as well as forwarding a message to Arezio from Aman.

* * *

"I believe this boy may be force sensitive. I pushed him during dinner, and he pushed right back. If Aman had not been ready with his shield, I might have been knocked over. This boy feels like he could be more powerful than even Master Yoda."

"Are you sure master? From the sounds of that commo Lord Aman piggybacked on your transmission, he believes that the boy may be a potential Psyker, I believe this to be their form of the Jedi order, as I have heard Arezio speaking to the queen about fighting off several Chaos Psykers, which from context, I interpreted that Chaos is the name they gifted to the followers of the dark side," Obi-wan's voice cracked as he ran out of air, and Qui-gon saw the named soldier step up into the hologram recorder's range,

* * *

"This is a fascinating vox system you have. May I look at it?"

The signal died and Qui-gon sighed. Yes the soldier had been in more fights than the number of years that Qui-gon himself had been alive, but he was still just an apprentice, a boy at heart. Just like Qui-gon's padawan. Neither was prepared to take on their own apprentice, nor to set off on their own, part of the reason they had been pushed into sticking together. The hope that the two would become a team and lean on each-other like brothers, skills that would be useful even after they parted ways.

"Leggo! You'll break it!" Obi-wan jumped up, nearly banging his head on the ceiling as he attempted to grab the tiny device out of the soldier's meaty paw, "I'll let you play with an old one, but the council just gave me that one!"

Arezio looked at the miniature vox, admiring the technology that went into it. If they could take that back to the Emperor, it would make communication so much faster.

* * *

As before, R&R, and if you were watching for chapter 3 to appear (before May 27, 2012), please go back and re-read chapters 1 and 2, as they have been heavily edited.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See the beginning of chapter one.

The crew so far:

Qui-gon Jinn: Jedi Master

Obi-wan Kenobi: Jedi Padawan of Master Jinn

Caedus Aman: Chapter-master of the Warriors Tempest, and commander of the imperial vessel Imperial Cadence

Arezio Dirge: Honor Guard to Caedus Aman, and long-time gene-brother

Antonius Staeker: Tech-priest trained as an Apothecary, due to a shortage of men

Padme Naberrie Amidala: Queen of Naboo (secretly)

Panaka: Personal body-guard of Queen Amidala

R2-D2/ Radar Deus Delta Deus: Astromech droid in the service of the queen.

Anakin Skywalker: Force Sensitive Racer

* * *

Regular speech/text

**Mental communication**

_High Gothic_

_**Mental communication in High Gothic**_

* * *

The twin suns rose across the faces of both Qui-gon Jinn and Caedus Aman, illuminating them and clearly highlighting the vast differences in build, but at the same time, the identical posturing, how far apart they were, yet how close. Aman admired the suns, as he had on his own home planet many mornings before he had left to become a Marine. The twin suns matched almost perfectly, though the environment was far nicer. The storms at least gave an adequate warning here.

The warp spoke to him, gently, and more like the guidance of a father than the chaotic storm it had been in his own time. It was amazing, and just in the few weeks he had spent between dropping out of the Warp in this new galaxy, to this beautiful morning, he saw that peace could reign, even if only for a few minutes. There was always a war, somewhere, but at least here, now, he could pretend. He could listen to the Warp, and trust that what it said didn't belong to the forces of Chaos, or their heretical gods. Beside Aman, he could sense the Jedi master's warp presence, how free he was, letting his consciousness pervade the surrounding air and the sand. The Jedi faced the gentle breeze, and the shards of microscopic silicon being borne aloft by them, gently sweeping the crystals away with a grace that Aman had previously only seen in sanctioned psykers with millennia of experience, and training in the control necessary. Even he only had the ability to make rough clumsy movements with his mind. The precision required to flick aside the molecular grains without disrupting the flow of the wind was beyond him.

Not that that mattered, with his scarred face wrapped in cloth, eyes shielded by thick lenses on the goggles Qui-gon had told him to wear. It was like the Jedi could see inside him, how he truly was. But that couldn't be. If the Jedi could really read his mind, he would have seen the horrors visited upon the soldier.

"Aman. Calm your mind. Feel the world around you now, and savor it. This is your home, is it not? Seventy millennia, and it remains unchanged. Hold onto those memories. Every man you left behind, every woman you ever helped, every child who looked up to you. They will help you build a structure of peace, love, and honor. One that will allow you to achieve far greater feats than deflecting a little sand."

Aman nodded. He felt the truth in the words. He knew how the Jedi had resisted anger, stayed calm despite the xeno's behavior regarding the parts in the shop. The man who had calmly ordered him to disarm, to give up his arms, because he knew somehow. This man could have been Aman's ancestor, but would they ever know after Aman's life, the brutality imparted on his very genetics? "Thank you. In return, my advice, should you EVER find yourself in my lands, close your mind as tight as you can, and make yourself useless to the forces of the Warp. They will take you if you give the slightest opening. Raw power cannot help you there, nor can peace and serenity."

The Jedi responded with his own nod. He understood. They belonged side by side, brothers from very different worlds. Aman felt it. Though his skills were not fine enough to read the Jedi's mind very well, he could see the surface, the flickers of remembrance, of Qui-gon's master, his fall to the dark side, to the forces of Chaos. And for what, a little more power? Never aging again? The taint was never worth that. Besides, Apace Marines didn't age anyway. As was right for the undying forces of the Emperor.

* * *

Below them, in the courtyard of the housing complex, the boy seemed to be fiddling with some hovering ground vehicle, with the aid of both servitors, the handmaiden, and Staeker who seemed to be half-ecstatic, half confused beyond all reason. The boy seemed to be helping him along though, reassuring him that the machine was functional. It was a complex machine, and Staeker searched his archives, what of them he had been able to access without a psyker to link him to the Cadence. This machine was no-where in them, though many parts looked familiar to him.

The thrusters seemed to be very similar in construction to those on a Thunder-hawk, if a little bit larger and more streamlined. It was even easier to identify the control scheme. It was nearly identical to that of a Rhino, though without the top, or any of the turret controls. Of course, according to the boy, Pod-racers (the name of this bizarre conglomerate), were not allowed to be armed. It wouldn't be fair.

Just to be on the safe side though, Staeker stuffed his personal void-shield into the cockpit with a link to the main power switch. The boy wouldn't even get hit by a slight breeze once the thing got going. And if he could talk Chapter-master Aman into loaning his jump-pack (which was still on the ship), he would probably be able to give it a decent booster system.

* * *

Anakin scowled at the left engine of his pod-racer again, "Why won't you start! I did everything I needed to!" The boy hit the engine with a wrench, shouting in barely contained rage, before taking another swing. This time his hand was intercepted by that of Padme.

"I don't think that's going to work Ani. It seems like more than a hitting problem."

* * *

Staeker simply stood between the engines, one hand over each of the energy-binding ports, and lowered his head in prayer to the machine-god, unsure if it would work in this day and age.

"_Hear me, though I no longer stand in my time, nor my place. Your loyal servant requests aid. This machine spirit appears stuck between mind and body. Make the link, that this spirit shall be freed to run!"_

It did, and the cheers from the two organics nearly beat out the roar of the twin engines in sheer volume. The pink beam shot across the gap, plunging through both hands and Staeker's head. The servitors cheered too, glad that the work was finally done, and even Padme was happy to join in the exuberant shouts of glee, releasing Anakin's arm. Staeker dropped to the ground, stunned, as his neural networks reset and he was able to stand up. The racer had a bit of his essense in it now, completely on accident. He had no idea that those bindings carried information like that.

* * *

Qui-gon walked out the door, followed by Aman, "So, you built this thing, now what are you going to do with it?"

"Race it, in the Boonta Eve Classic race tomorrow. I didn't think I could get it finished in time, but Tony's a genius with machines. Maybe I could talk Watto into letting me enter this time."

"Uh huh. What makes you think he'll go for it?" Qui-gon was skeptical, after all, the Toydarian didn't seem to want to risk any sort of money. And honestly, the boy sounded way too proud of this accomplishment, and the race. He was a ten year old boy, and he intended to challenge racers who had been at it for decades longer than he had been alive. Victory would not come easily.

"Oh, sure, he'll be betting against my winning, in the hopes that I lose, but he needs to think that the racer isn't mine, or he'll never let me try," the boy's voice dropped to a whisper, "Neither will mom. She's scared that one of these days I won't come back, but I'm a good pilot, and I put in extra safety measures."

"Alright. I suppose I can bluff him for you," Qui-gon looked at the blue and yellow pod.

"Thank you. I promise, I'll finish this time!" The boy shrieked, his joy at the possibility of getting the little bit of runner-up money for not dying was excessive enough that it made Aman stagger back a half-step. The boy had pushed like he had last night at dinner, but this time without prompting. He was powerful. The sanctioned psykers on the Cadence would need to… They were all dead, and the Cadence had been blown up anyway. That wouldn't work. He would need to take their place for the commencement of the boy's rite of passage as a sanctioned psyker.

Padme interrupted Aman's thoughts, "You've never finished?"

"No. Sebulba, the Dug from the marketplace, is a dirty cheater, and likes breaking other peoples stuff for fun," he looked at his feet, "Especially my pod, so he can win every time."

* * *

"I am never doing that again," Qui-gon looked at the betting slip in his hand, the total value of the pod, plus the Queen's ship, on the least-favorite to win, because it was the only way Watto would pay the entry fee and let Ani pilot. The little yellow tag told him all he needed to know. He had screwed up, and he would never live it down if he lost, "The boy had better win."

"Do not worry my friend. If Staeker helped him build the thing, and reviewed it, I guarantee at least not dead last," Aman looked over the racer, alongside the other two dozen or so racers, all with significantly larger, more powerful engines. The fact that none of them had a fuel tank even close in size to that of their jet engines told him they had no intention of having spare fuel at the end. If they even had enough to get there. "In addition, the blessings he laid across it will ensure that the boy will be safe."

Staeker walked up to both of them as the little barrel shaped servitor dragged the racer out to the starting line, "Lord Aman, Master Jinn, I believe we may stand a chance. The entire vessel has been glazed in the finest finish I could obtain, beneath which, I etched the tenants and blessings of the machine. I only hope I did not make any mistakes."

"And, if you did?" Aman scowled beneath his wraps. A failure would mean they were trapped on this backwater planet with next-to no ammunition, and no money. Stealing a xeno vessel was out of the question, and almost heresy in his mind.

"I installed a void-shield, and wired in your jump-pack as a booster," Staeker smiled his strange crooked smile, "With any luck, the boy will be fine, if not victorious."

* * *

Boosters meant to lift a three quarter ton tech-priest and a fully armored half-ton Marine, plus kit, strapped to a racer that couldn't have weighed more than half a ton, with the boy and an extra load of fuel. The streamlining too, and that thing would be hauling serious ass. For about twenty seconds before the boosters ran out of fuel anyway. "Are you nuts!"

"Highly likely, though my mind has been clearer in this galaxy than ever before. I can see so many opportunities, so many new plans shall come to fru…" he suddenly went limp as Aman hit the switch on his torso.

"Shut it before I have to declare you a heretic," technically more than half Aman's crew could be considered heretics, being directly descended from their Primarch, one of the lost, and it was only through their dedication to the Mechanicus that they hadn't been investigated too thoroughly. Of course, the Inquisition didn't exist in this time period, so the declaration probably wouldn't do anything.

* * *

A loud zapping sound echoed out of the rows of racers, followed by a loud thunk and the sound of flesh hitting sand, "If you'll excuse me, I believe the blessed contact stunner needs reset." He wandered back to the racer, murmuring under his breath as the Dug scrambled away from the engine, clearly in pain, and chittering angrily. The loping movement of the Tech-priest drew his mind in, briefly making him remember the days when he himself had wished for that very thing. He knew now that not every one of Nicolaites' children could become one with the machine, and that it would forever distance those few from Nicolaites forever. Staeker had known this, and it was a regret of the Tech-priest's that he would never truly see the face of his Primarch.

Aman looked around for a fifth time, hands running through the motions of planting a bolter round in each and every xeno's head, particularly that backwards xeno that had tried to assault their maintenance servitor and the boy's racer. If Qui-gon hadn't taken his Chain-sword and hidden it somewhere in the boy's room, and all but mind-pushed him to leave his bolter in the apartment, he would have already done the deed. As it was, he struggled against his own ingrained nature that was all but ordering him to strangle the xeno with his bare hands. Granted, he might do that afterwards anyway, but killing the favored racer before the race started was sure to get him shot, repeatedly, by people with backwards slug-throwers and knives that wouldn't be a big deal, if it weren't for the sheer quantity of them, and his unarmed state.

* * *

The rather ugly two-headed xeno up in the announcer's tower, evidently the equivalent of the commander of this entire program, if the racers were Thunder-hawks going on a bombing run, began to speak. It took several minutes, during which Staeker returned to Aman's side, and took a knee beside the boy's mother in a viewing platform. The introduction of every single racer, along with a list of what their individual racers were capable of sucked both in. They admired the way the machines were built, but Staeker recited litanies of deception to himself, to assure his machine spirit that these machines were actually subtly blessed, and assembled properly. It was a mantra he had taken up, running on a loop in the back of his mind, since he first saw the boy's racer two nights before. Nearly fifty six hours of the phrase, and it was burned into his vox permanently.

The two headed xeno in the announcement booth finished talking and began the count down, all the way to go. Twenty racers darted off into the sandy track, two sputtered and died abruptly, including the one Staeker had tweaked, one exploded instantly, and the other sputtered before the quad engines streaked off in random directions. Staeker started struggling against Qui-gon's hand on his organic arm, trying to switch his vox to the wireless setting, even as Anakin's pod roared to life and shot off down the track. Qui-gon let go, "The boy did it. He spoke to the machine spirit."

"That he did. He would make an incredible son of Nicolaites," Staeker smiled and flicked his vox over to the wireless setting, jumping his voice into the box mounted in the cockpit of the racer.

Anakin screamed around the track at nearly twice the speed of the other racers, dodging the obstacles and other racers for two full laps before reaching the racer in the lead. It was the Dug Aman had a chainsword greeting for. Half a lap to go, and they were side by side. Anakin let out a gleeful howl and hit the boost button, only for the jets to sputter out, non-responsive. Sebulba laughed and shot forward before dumping something into the front of the bright yellow blessed racer. The shrapnel blasted the right engine wide open, forcing black smoke and fire out of the vents. The exhaust fumes had caught fire as well, and the entire engine, fractured intake to charred control vanes, burst into flames. The only thing sticking out of the fireball was the purple energy binder, all the way back to the side of the cockpit, where the flames licked at the void-shield. Staeker shrieked into his side of the radio, "Cut the fuel line and recite the litany of success before returning the switch to the first position!"

Anakin took him at his word, flipping the switch, "Oh ShitOhShitOhShitOhShit!" before toggling the switch back. The flames burned out as the engine dipped low to the ground, charred totally black and as aerodynamic as a Thunder-hawk now, before kicking.

"Transfer fuel while reciting the litany of focus, followed by the litany of speed." Staeker's words echoed inside the cockpit as Anakin found the toggle and flipped it. Fuel shifted as Anakin spoke softly to the machine, the only thing that could hear him now, over the shrieking of the overheated metal tearing through the air. His voice changed pitch as he began reciting the Litany of Speed, and felt the machine respond elegantly. The engine roared to life, and would have blown out Anakin's eardrums if he hadn't had his ears packed with the ear-buds from the communicator, and lurched forward. Anakin had lost quite a bit of distance, and was coming up on the narrowest part of the track, just barely wide enough for some of the larger pods, and not quite wide enough for Anakin to slip past. This part had already claimed several pods this race alone, and their remnants sat on the sands, and embedded in the walls, narrowing it further in some points.

He caught up before the entrance, just barely, only to be forced up a service ramp to avoid being smashed into the wall beneath the ramp. Nearing the top, Anakin realized he could turn it to his advantage and hit the boost. The tongues of flame from the liquid promethium dragged behind the cockpit, and Anakin let out a howl of glee, ducking his head below the windshield as the charcoal black ash from the fire was scorched deep into the metal. The pod became fully airborne for nearly ten seconds before dropping down in front of Sebulba and fleeing as fast as the little thrusters could make him go.

* * *

"Huh. Didn't think the promethium would react so explosively with their bio-fuels."

Qui-gon, Aman, Padme, and Shmi all stared at him for a long minute, "You WHAT!"

"Hey, the boy's still going. He's fine. See."

* * *

Finally the promethium tank ran out and the little yellow and black racer cornered into the home stretch, a full twenty kilometers, or, at his current speed, a minute and a quarter. And he was slowing down. The low fuel alarm bleeped at him, and he realized that the transfer, to replace the fuel lost in the fire, was not nearly enough. He would be coasting the last ten kilometers if he didn't do something fast.

Anakin felt the thrust go out as the engines died, and he stuck his head up as Sebulba caught up and attempted to pass. The two pods met in a loud crash as Anakin twisted the rudders to the side. Cables stuck together, bonding the two pods, "Heh. I'm not gonna lose this time Sebulba. I know what Watto has riding on you." He pulled the levers back the other way, and let out a cruel laugh as Sebulba's pod fell apart and his own screamed across the finish line, engines choking on air across the line. He skidded to a stop and Staeker rushed over to the pod, using the aid of the two servitors to move it back into the garage as Qui-gon went to cash his bet.

"I won! I WON!" Anakin shouted, the powerful feeling of joy washing across the two marines who hadn't felt that emotion since they were children. Joy had no place in their lives, but the sheer psychic shockwave the boy was outputting was overwhelming. Staeker yanked him into the air and spun around, letting the energy of the moment move him, even though he knew how risky it was to open himself up like that. Aman stood beside the boy's mother, hand on her shoulder.

"The boy is strong. There really was no likelihood of him losing, you know," he was lying through his teeth, trying to make sure that she didn't fall to the same psychic trap his tech-priest had opened himself up to. His own mind was locked up tight, maintaining posture and mentally shouting at Staeker, _**"Antonius Staeker, Stand down before you summon Slaannesh!" ** _He knew Slaannesh didn't exist in this time intellectually, but it was an instinct built on centuries fo combat with freaks of every single one of the Chaos gods.

The tech-priest dropped Anaking to the sand and stepped back, focusing on his commander's voice, rather than the waves of joy being pumped out of Anakin. Qui-gon returned to the party, holding a small sack of credits, very densely packed, which he jingled before Aman, "Got the credits. Come on Anakin. Time to go!"

* * *

It had paid off big, but he had made a deal. In exchange for the parts, and the cost of freeing Anakin, Watto would get everything else from the bet, which was insufficient to free his mother, to Qui-gon's disappointment. Aman had very nearly blown the Toydarian's head off, but, at Qui-gon's urging, and advising that the Toydarian might be useful alive in the future, he had reluctantly only left him with a warning.

"Xeno. You will watch the boy's mother for me. You will treat her with the respect you give me. I will be watching, and if I find out any different, you will be eating a fragmentary round for your last meal. Is that clear!"

Watto had dropped noticeably closer to the floor, "Clear as the skies over the Jundland Wastes."

"Good."

* * *

Anakin hugged his mother, "I'll come back for you mom. I promise, I'll become the best Jedi ever, and I'll come back and free you."

His mother sighed and looked at Aman and Qui-gon, still cutting identical shadows out of the sand, despite the height difference, "I'll be fine. Lord Aman made Watto promise to be nice until he came back for me. Now go on, become a Jedi, and Don't you dare look back for me." Anakin nodded, and ran over to Qui-gon, "Alright. I'm good now," he turned and shouted, "Bye Mom! I'll be back before you know it!"

She smiled at the departing group, waving goodbye to her son before retreating into her house, empty except for C-3PO.

* * *

R2D2 and Staeker, who had already reached the ship, were busy installing the new Hyperdrive. With both of his mechadendrites on, the work went so much faster than the work on the podracer had, in addition to the addition of both the young Jedi, and the young Marine speeding up the work. It neared completion as the four normal people, wrapped tightly against the wind, trudged back to the ship. Padme had Anakin's backpack in one hand as they followed Aman and Qui-gon through the thickening sand. Another storm was beginning, but it wouldn't be nearly as bad as the one on their arrival night.

Qui-gon spun and slammed Anakin to the ground as he felt something. Padme dropped as well, dragged down on top of Anakin's prone form by her hand on his pack. Aman felt it too, the taint of Chaos drew his attention for a moment, and he swept his chainsword up through the mini-speeder, dropping the occupant on the ground. His second sweep was impaired by his chainsword being cleaved in half by a lightsaber in bright red. Immediately, Qui-gon came to his rescue, drawing off the blade, "Get the boy on the ship, and get out of here, "I'll take care of this!"

* * *

Aman did so, running at the boy and scooping him up out of the sand with one hand as he brought his comm to his mouth, "Staeker, if you don't have that ship in the air in six seconds, I will personally excommunicate you!" Padme scrambled after them, very unlady-like in her mad dash to get up the ramp right behind the charging Space Marine.

The ship obliged, lifting just a moment after Aman's boot touched the base. The ship lifted higher as Aman hollered, "Fly low, get Master Qui-gon!" The ship rose slightly higher as Obi-wan dropped into the co-pilot's seat and focused on controlling the beastly vessel. He tried to keep the ramp pointed at the two fighters as Anakin tried to see over the dashboard and out the window, and Arezio dragged his bolter up from his hip, positioning himself on the ramp, ready for a clearing.

Aman dodged several doorways and crew as he reached the cargo hold and ripped his Bolter off the table before rounding and returning to the open ramp. He took careful aim, but the two were switching places so rapidly he could barely follow them without his armor. Finally, he fired a shot at the pair, aiming to miss. The shockwave still broke the two apart, and Qui-gon leapt up onto the ramp, pushing Aman back as it closed, "That was bad. A Sith. We must tell the council!"

Arezio fired a second shot at the fleeing Sith, hoping for a hit, although the ship was moving too quickly for him to hit.

"He was tainted by chaos. The Emperor's will orders us to destroy him, and those like him. Arezio, prepare yourself for holy combat, as it comes to us this day."

"Understood commander," Arezio made his way back to the cargo-hold and began the lengthy ritual of cleaning his armor.

The day long journey to Coruscant gave the three Marines time enough to get their armor completely cleansed of filth, and buffed up in preparation for the great battle. It also gave all three adequate time to record their findings. Though it was not easy without a half-dozen servitors assisting, both armored up on the last day, being prepared to present their best faces to the Republic they were now occupying.

* * *

They might have to try returning with one of these 'Hyperdrives' the humans in this galaxy had. Staeker also wrote up a report on how the drive used a version of the warp that was not chaos tainted, though there were bits that were. He could see them streaking past the window. The pilot and the younger Jedi had left the room, leaving the ship on auto-pilot, in itself a mechanism that greatly concerned the Tech-priest. They were trusting an unsupervised machine-spirit to navigate them through the land where most of the people he had known before barely even dared to look upon it without at least a foot of ceramite and steel in the way. And now, he could see it with his bare eye, without losing his mind, like so many psykers had, and so many unshielded vessels.

Perhaps he could take apart the old one and try to figure out how it worked, and perhaps even save those plans as an STC for later recovery, should they ever get back to their home galaxy. Though, honestly, he was starting to like this one.

* * *

Aman had reviewed with the boy while the Jedi were busy meditating, ensuring that the young psyker would be ready when it came time to stare the Warp In the face, and not go mad with the sheer power available. He even managed to perform at least the first step of the preparation for the boy to become one of them. The mental conditioning. By the time they left Coruscant to wipe the Nemoidian invasion off Naboo (why would a weakling race attempt to take over one so obviously powerful than themselves), the boy ought to be able to at least act like a soldier.

Alternating with Aman, Qui-gon began the process of preparing Anakin for his meeting with the Jedi Council, and Padme spent her spare time, away from the queen, teaching him how to behave in front of the senate and any nobility they might run into. It was overwhelming, for Anakin, but he felt ready to take on anything, if a little disheartened at the loss of his mother. One day he would be going back to see her, and free her from Watto.


End file.
